


Beneath the War Table

by DaniJayNel



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, F/F, Naughtiness, kinda smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3911095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniJayNel/pseuds/DaniJayNel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa is in a meeting with Indra and other disgruntled warriors, ready to hear their complaints and deal with them, but a certain blonde prevents her from doing so by touching her inappropriately underneath the table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath the War Table

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for the idea goes to obsessedwithdorks on tumblr. Thank you for letting me use it ^^

Clarke fought off a gleeful grin as Lexa squirmed beside her, tanned throat flexing as she swallowed and inhaled, sharply.

“And then what, _heda?_ ” Indra asked impatiently. “We just let them go unpunished?”

Lexa bit into her lip and leaned further back into her seat. “No,” she said.

“It was just a joke,” Clarke argued. She scooted forward and rested a hand against the war table in front of them, her other hand slowly circling Lexa’s clothed knee. “There was nothing serious meant by it.”

Indra’s eyes flashed angrily. “I do not care how Sky People do things, but down here we do not play silly games for useless laughs. If any of my men dare do what your people did, I would have cut their tongues out myself.”

Clarke felt like rolling her eyes, like telling Indra to kindly remove the stick from her ass, but knew that it would only escalate the situation. Once the warrior had someone in her sights, she did everything to make their life hell. Granted, Indra had a point. Things were peaceful now, but sabotaging Indra’s and her guard’s uniforms and then drawing crude pictures on their swords was going too far. Clarke agreed that the perpetrators needed to be punished, but it was a mild crime. It was tolerable. Death for doing something so childish was too harsh.

“We’re civilized,” Clarke pressed. “It was just a stupid prank. It doesn’t deserve death.”

“Your people have no sense of consequence, do you?” Indra roared. She stood and slammed her fist down on the table, bringing Lexa back into the situation, for the commander’s eyes fluttered suddenly, refocusing, and she responded by clearing her throat and glaring across the table.

“Shof op, Indra. Daun stu pleni,” Lexa spoke firmly. She shared a long, fierce look with the dark warrior, and then Indra slowly relented and relaxed in her seat. “Clarke, have you found who did this?” the commander directed at the blonde.

Clarke had been momentarily distracted by Lexa’s moving lips, but she somehow managed to catch the question and hesitantly shook her head. Indra immediately jumped to argue, but Lexa held up a hand to quiet her. She listened, but she looked about ready to launch herself over the table and attack. Clarke knew that even Lexa could see it.

“Then we can do nothing for the mean time,” Lexa informed them. She sucked in a sudden breath and shut her eyes tightly—Clarke had just roughly grabbed her inner thigh. The blonde showed extraordinary calmness in this situation, but Lexa found herself helpless. Part of her wanted to throw Clarke over the table in anger, the other part wanted to throw her on top of it and ravage her right there. But neither were possible, because her other warriors had other concerns, of which she needed to listen.

Clarke enjoyed the flicker of a threat in Lexa’s eyes, and so she released her grip and then lightly trailed her fingers to Lexa’s hip, somehow managing to slip underneath the fabric there and caress her warm, soft skin. Lexa nearly choked on her tongue as she was telling a young warrior that he was allowed to interact with the Sky People if he wanted, and Indra shifted impatiently, worriedly in her seat.

“Is something wrong, _heda?_ ”

Clarke coughed lightly and turned to look at the dark, beautiful warrior beside her. Lexa looked about ready to kill something. “Are you okay?” Clarke asked, all innocence and fake worry.

Lexa’s nostrils flared as she inhaled deeply to quell… to quell _something_ that was exploding in her chest—that something she did not want to yet name—and fixed Clarke with a firm, authoritive glare.

“Stop it,” she uttered too softly for anyone but Clarke to hear.

Clarke lifted a brow, surprised that Lexa had the power to say it. “Or?” she challenged, moving her hand back down so that she could slide a finger along her thigh, and then over her crotch, making Lexa shift suddenly in her seat. If not for the warpaint, then the others seated at the table would have noticed Lexa’s complexion darkening a few shades. She cleared her throat and turned to her warriors.

“That’s all for now,” she said sternly. “I will listen to the rest of your concerns later.”

Indra almost levitated out of the tent, she was so glad to leave. If not for Clarke’s interference, Lexa knew, then she would have gotten her way. Everyone knew it, and once Lexa’s tent had been vacated, the brunette suddenly lifted Clarke out of the seat and roughly dropped her down onto the table. She then pressed her hips between Clarke’s legs, bent down until they were breathing the same air, and then gripped onto Clarke’s hips.

“I was giving council,” she breathed.

Clarke’s chest rose and fell with difficulty. “I was having fun, commander,” she responded as seriously as she could, as if she was speaking of an attack in the horizon—well, one certainly was and it would most definitely end with her becoming a shivering mess upon the table.

Lexa’s head dipped down lightly, her eyes flashing in the way that meant she hated Clarke never submitting to her, but secretly, deep inside, revelled in the fact. No one—absolutely no one—could ever do to the commander what Clarke did, and live to tell about it.

“That was disrespectful to my people,” Lexa growled, but a small smirk lifted the corner of her mouth. “And very, very naughty of you, Clarke.”

Clarke responded to the smirk with one of her own, and slipped her hand around the back of Lexa’s neck. At the same time she wrapped her legs around the warrior, and then she tugged her in tighter, causing Lexa to gasp and swallow, and brushed their lips.

“Are you going to punish me, commander?” Clarke husked. Lexa bucked into her suddenly, realized what she had done and blushed.

“If that is what you wish,” she whispered, eyes aflame, burning through Clarke, touching her in places that hands never could.

“Then do it,” Clarke coaxed. “Right here. Right now.”

Lexa lifted a brow. “Right on the table, Clarke? Where our maps and plans rest?” But as she said it, she flipped Clarke over and tore her shirt off. She leaned over, pressing hot kisses to Clarke’s spine all the way to the base, and then she moved upwards again and pressed her lips to Clarke’s ear. “You want me to punish you, Clarke?”

The blonde shivered madly, enjoyed the heat and power pressed to her from behind, wished that she could be in that position too, but rather filed that away for later. For now she would remain right where she was. “Yes,” she breathed out, shuddering and most certainly eager for attention.

Lexa smirked. “One hundred lashes, then,” she spoke, warm breath making Clarke’s ears redden to the tips. “With my tongue.” Clarke shut her eyes and pushed back into Lexa without being able to stop herself. Again she was flipped over, and Lexa pulled her by her legs until she was barely sitting on the table. With that the commander then stripped them of their clothes, eyes dominating. Clarke loved it—she wanted to do just the same. But then Lexa kneeled in front of her and she took a single breath before the first stroke caused her head to fall back and a loud moan to fall from her lips.

“Is one hundred all you have?” Clarke choked out, desperate for as much of the commander’s punishment as she could get.

Lexa paused, gripped Clarke’s thighs and then pulled her legs over her shoulders and tipped her had back to look at Clarke. “Shof op, Clarke,” she growled in Trigedasleng. “I am in control now.”

Clarke cried out again when Lexa roughly entered her with two fingers, leaned down again to consume her with her mouth, and bit into her tongue to prevent herself from saying that _no, you’re never in control here, Lexa. I am, and we both know it._

For once, she let Lexa enjoyed her phantom control, let Lexa claim her, take her and destroy her with the softest of touches. And when it was over, Lexa took her over to the bed, laid her down and pressed a kiss to her slick forehead. Clarke then threw her onto her back, straddled her and grinned.

“Now,” she said. “It’s my turn.”


End file.
